


The Whole Package

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole Package

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Should've Been My Girlfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/197606) by [crysothemis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crysothemis/pseuds/crysothemis). 



> This story owes a great deal to Crysothemis' [_Should've Been My Girlfriend_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/197606). This is partly because I borrowed a plot device but also because [_Girlfriend_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/197606) was the first genderswap story I ever read that made sense to me.

He should have realized things were going too well. He should have known something like this would happen.

The two thoughts kept running over and over through John’s mind as he sat by the infirmary bed, watching Rodney’s pale face above the oxygen mask, remembering Rodney screaming in pain. John determinedly kept his gaze above Rodney’s neck.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Engrossed in his own thoughts, he hadn’t heard Keller approaching.

"Rodney’s condition is stable, but it will be several hours before he wakes. You should get some rest."

John glanced over at the empty bed next to Rodney’s, but Keller was onto him before he could even ask.

"No, I don’t mean _here_ , I mean in your quarters. And stop by the mess hall and get something to eat first. I’ll call you immediately if anything happens, I promise."

John ended up skipping the mess hall. He didn’t feel hungry. More importantly, he didn’t feel like answering questions or pretending to ignore looks and whispers. Returning to his quarters – _their_ quarters – proved to be hardly a better idea. He walked into the bedroom, took one look at the bed with its king-sized prescription mattress and walked out again. He’d ragged Rodney about that goddamn mattress, about how a twin would have been large enough because they always ended up tangled together in the middle anyway.

John started pacing the living room. He should have known when DADT was repealed... When Rodney and Keller cancelled their engagement... When the IOA _finally_ decided to allow Atlantis to return to Pegasus... When he and Rodney had celebrated the decision with a case of Moosehead out on the pier... When he’d gotten up enough beer-fueled courage to make a move... When Rodney had said yes, yes, yes, yes, goddammit, John, _yes_...

He should have realized things were going too well. He should have known something like this would happen.

***

John finally passed out on the couch, only to be woken barely two hours later when Ronon came by to go running. John had asked Ronon once how Amelia felt about him getting up early every morning.

Ronon had shrugged. "She goes to the gym. I don’t like staying in bed alone."

John felt a bit better after the run. Ronon left him at his quarters with a warning to be in the mess hall within twenty minutes. "Teyla says you need to eat breakfast."

"Geez, first Keller, then Teyla, what is it with these..." He choked on the word, couldn’t say it, couldn’t look at Ronon.

Ronon said only, "Mess hall in twenty, Sheppard," and left.

***

John didn’t ask, but when he headed for the infirmary after breakfast, both Teyla and Ronon came with him. He was grateful.

Rodney had lost the full oxygen mask but still had a tube attached to his nose, with another tube attached to the IV needle in his arm. He looked smaller and very still, lying there on the bed, but when John started to ask Keller if he was awake, Rodney started and rasped, "John?"

With the rasp, the difference in pitch was hardly noticeable, and hell, it was still _Rodney_ and John was at the bedside, touching him, kissing him, breathing his breathe.

Eventually, inevitably, John had to pull back and _look_ at him. The wide blue eyes were still the same. The softer contours of his face made him look more like Jeannie. His hair was the freakiest thing. His receding hairline had filled in with new-grown brown fuzz, but the rest of his hair was still the same length.

"How do I look?" rasped Rodney.

"Kind of dykey, with the hair."

"I don’t know what passes for sex ed in the American school system, Sheppard, but long hair is _not_ a secondary sexual characteristic."

John snorted, not quite up to smiling yet. He moved aside a bit to let Teyla and Ronon say hello. Keller came by to deliver a status report. "Rodney, I’d like to keep you here at least one more day."

Rodney opened his mouth.

"Uh, uh, uh!" said Keller. "Don’t even start with me! You kicked off my day with a litany of complaints about how every muscle in your body feels as if you’ve strained it. Well, you probably have _and_ we have to assume that your internal organs were strained as well. You underwent a substantial physiological change..."

"And am now being further stressed by caffeine withdrawal!"

"You had a cup of coffee."

"Precisely!" Rodney gestured with a raised index finger. "I had _a_ , that is, _one_ cup of coffee!"

"I can bring you more coffee," John volunteered.

Keller nodded. "Colonel Sheppard can bring you more coffee. And if everything looks good tomorrow, I’ll release you _to your quarters_. I hear anything about you being in the labs and you’re right back here, got it?"

Rodney looked mutinous.

"We’ve got it," said John, and headed out to get the coffee. He snagged some muffins as well, but when he got back to the infirmary, Rodney was asleep again.

"He really _is_ doing well," said Keller softly. "It’s just – we’ve never dealt with anything like this before."

"Yes, we have," John heard himself snap. "I got turned into a bug."

Keller blinked. "Okay, good point. _I’ve_ never dealt with anything like this before, so I’d like to be extra-careful. Colonel, you were _there_..."

Yeah, I was there, thought John. I had to watch and listen to his screams. I had to help carry him back to the Gate.

"Yeah," he said, "Careful is good."

"Also, this isn’t quite like getting turned into a bug, and I mean that in a good way. For one thing, Rodney’s still the same species _and_ in his right mind. Even more important, we already know how to reverse the change. But we also know the procedure is physically stressful, even traumatic, which means he can’t go through it twice in quick succession. We need to be..."

"Careful."

"Right. Like about two weeks’ worth of careful."

Two weeks. Two weeks was good. John thought he could handle two weeks.

***

Rodney was released from the infirmary the next day, still wearing scrubs and complaining loudly about it.

"You’ve got real clothes waiting back in our quarters," John assured him as they headed down the corridor.

"Clothes that don’t _fit_ at the moment."

"Not _your_ clothes. Cadman and Miko brought a bunch of stuff by."

"Oh, right, like anything either of _them_ can wear is going to fit _me_ any better."

"I, uh, don’t think it’s their own stuff."

"What, they took up a collection?"

"Something like that. I didn’t ask for details."

"No, of course not. I just hope this pile of ‘stuff’ of anonymous but presumably diverse origin includes bras. All this bouncing around is annoying."

John hoped so, too. The redistribution of Rodney’s mass was unsettling. His chest was probably about the same in overall diameter but less of that was ribcage and more of it was _padding_. _Jiggly_ padding.

"Gee, Rodney, I thought you liked breasts," John drawled.

"Not to wear!" Rodney snapped.

By the time they made it to their quarters, Rodney had run out of steam and was leaning heavily on an increasingly uncomfortable John. Nothing felt right. He’d instinctively put an arm around Rodney’s shoulders, but Rodney was a few inches shorter now and his shoulders were narrower. When John tried slipping his arm around Rodney’s waist instead, he’d discovered _that_ was narrower too. Most of the softness Rodney usually carried there seemed to have migrated downwards to his hips.

They were both relieved when their own door finally slid open. John steered Rodney to the bedroom, let him collapse onto their bed and pulled the curtains closed to dim the room. The curtains, made to fit the windows of their new quarters but still sparkly, had been a housewarming gift from Lorne and David. Rodney had teased John about them at least as often as John had teased him about the mattress.

"Thanks," muttered Rodney, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. And then, "I’m sure you’ve got Colonel-y things to do, but, ah..."

"I can stay a bit," said John. He kicked off his boots and crawled across the bed, stretching out on his side about a foot away from Rodney, who promptly fisted his hands in John’s t-shirt and tugged him closer.

"Talk," Rodney ordered. "Tell me about the jumpers."

So John talked about how the improvements Rodney had made to Jumper 1’s handling were working out great but something was hinky in Jumper 3’s inertial dampers and how Jumper 7 was pretty well clear of the mud the botanists had brought back with them after that trip to PK5-496 last week but still had this really weird smell...

Somewhere in the middle, Rodney drifted off to sleep. And began to snore.

John was smiling as he slipped his boots back on and left. Rodney was a little shorter, a little differently shaped, but he was still Rodney. They’d be okay.

***

When John brought supper back to their quarters that evening, he discovered Rodney awake and tapping away at a laptop.

"I’m not working!" Rodney sputtered in response to John’s raised eyebrow. "I’m checking on _other_ people’s work to make sure their mistakes don’t sink the city or blow us all up!"

"Yeah, buddy, I believe you. The question is, will Keller?"

"Keller will never find out unless someone tells her and hey, is that meatloaf with mashed tormack?"

They sat together on the bed to watch a movie together after supper, Rodney nodding off slumped against John’s shoulder even before the CIA operative supposedly assisting the hero was revealed as a _crooked_ CIA operative and eventually vanquished in a series of events that involved fast cars, guns, explosives and some kickass martial arts moves by the _other_ CIA operative, the really hot one who’d been so condescending to the hero when they’d first met but who definitely seemed to have warmed up to him by the time the credits rolled, if the PG-13-level necking was any indication.

John got Rodney tucked in, put the laptop away and turned in himself.

He woke in the middle of the night, his skin sweaty and his heart pounding, aware that _something_ was wrong. It took him a few moments to realize what.

Rodney had wrapped himself around John as they slept, his nose tucked in against the back of John’s neck. Nothing new there, but instead of Rodney’s hard, lightly furred chest against John’s back, John felt the unfamiliar squoosh of Rodney’s breasts. And Rodney’s shifting hormone levels changed the way he smelled. To John’s subconscious, it all added up to wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

It’s Rodney, it’s just Rodney, it’s _still_ Rodney, John told himself. He tried to relax and get back to sleep, but he was confined, too warm, the room was stifling, was it always this hot or had something gone wrong with the environmental controls? He tried to roll away, but Rodney muttered in his sleep and tightened his grip.

So John lay there, trying to breathe naturally, counting off the minutes and hours in his head. At 04:24, he decided it was late enough for him to get up.

"Jnnnnnn," protested Rodney as John pulled free.

"Going running, buddy. See you at breakfast, okay?"

"Mmmppphhh." Having voiced his opinion of running, Rodney rolled over and went back to sleep.

John pulled on a t-shirt, shorts, running shoes and headed for Ronon’s and Amelia’s quarters. He arrived there at 04:36. Shit, too early. He did stretches and jogged circles in the hall to warm up while waiting. He’d give Ronon until 04:55, being five minutes early would be okay. Or even ten minutes. Yeah, make it 04:50.

He was taken by surprise when the door swooshed open at 04:49. So was Amelia, who obviously hadn’t expected to literally run into John in front of her door.

"Oops! Sorry, Colonel. Hey, Ronon!" she called back over her shoulder, "Get a move on, the Colonel’s already here!" She gave John a wave and took off before he had a chance to explain that it wasn’t Ronon’s fault.

"Sheppard," growled Ronon from the doorway. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just, ah, looking forward to a good run."

Ronon’s face said he wasn’t buying it, but mercifully, he didn’t ask any more questions. He just ran John’s legs off instead.

***

When John crept out of his quarters at 03:57 the next morning, Ronon was already waiting for him in the hall.

Same thing the morning after that.

***

By the Rodney’s fourth day post-infirmary, the number of laptops in their quarters had grown to three, Rodney was spending at least half his day squawking on the radio, and Radek had personally asked Keller to allow Rodney to return to light duty "because we have increasing number of scientists wishing to punch him in the face and this is hard to do over radio."

Rodney stayed awake through the entire movie that evening, destroying every pseudo-scientific plot device with enthusiasm and getting progressively more handsy. And hell, _normally_ John would have been giving as good as he got. They missed the ends of movies more often than not, too lost in each other to notice or care what was happening on the screen.

John tried to respond and thought he was doing a pretty good job of it until Rodney growled, "C’mon, Sheppard, I’m not going to _break_ ," shoved John down on the bed and straddled him. Okay, fine, John could deal. He grinned back up at Rodney and used his superior knowledge of hand-to-hand combat to flip them both over, then derailed Rodney’s attempts to retaliate by sucking his nipples through his t-shirt, getting the fabric on the left side good and wet and then rubbing it with his fingers while he did the same thing on the right.

Then he shoved the shirt out of the way and did it all again. And no, it wasn’t the same, what with the breasts instead of pecs and the absence of chest hair, but Rodney’s hips were bucking and Rodney was making the same sex noises he always did, albeit in a slightly higher pitch, so John got a hand free and reached down and squeezed one cheek of Rodney’s ass.

It was a bit of a shock. John had always loved the lushness of Rodney’s ass, but this was – too much of a good thing. Over-ripe, over-rich, like taking a swallow of what you thought was 2% milk and getting a mouthful of cream instead.

But it was also _Rodney_ and John wanted to make it good for him, so he kneaded a bit and gave another squeeze and then shifted his hand around front and slipped his fingers in between Rodney’s legs, nuzzling a nipple all the while.

He’d _been_ married to a woman, he’d _done_ this before, he could damn well do it again for Rodney’s sake.

John’s fingers found the slippery wetness he was looking for. He began to stroke, varying position, intensity and speed to figure out what Rodney liked best. Hard and fast apparently, no surprises there, so John gave him hard and fast, alternating long strokes up from the root with frenzied rubbing right at the tip and Rodney’s hips were moving and Rodney was moaning and it was all going very, very well and then...

Rodney stopped. No more noises, no more motion. John looked up at Rodney’s face, surprised and concerned – maybe he _had_ broken Rodney? – to find Rodney looking right back at him, his not-quite-Rodney-shaped face flushed but his eyes very clear.

"How long did it take your wife to figure it out?" asked Rodney quietly.

Busted.

"Nine months."

Rodney’s mouth opened, but John pushed on. "In her defence, I was away a lot."

"As in, most of the time?"

John nodded.

"And of course, I have an advantage she didn’t have."

"Yeah, genius."

"That too, but what I meant was – I already know what you look like when you’re _really_ enjoying yourself. I’ve seen you fly jumpers with more passion."

John rolled over and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at Rodney’s eyes.

"Fuck, Rodney, I’m sorry."

"That was an observation, not an accusation."

"Yeah, but... I still... You... I’m screwing this up."

Rodney snorted. "If my entire personality were downloaded into a computer, would you feel like rubbing off on my tower?"

John blinked, startled. He couldn’t help imagining it, and the image was weird and a bit dirty and then he realized he’d actually started to smile. He looked over and Rodney was smiling too, because _of course_ Rodney had said it that way on purpose, the bastard, and that, right there, was one of the reasons John loved him.

He reached out, grabbed one of Rodney’s not-quite-large-enough hands and squeezed.

"Me too," said Rodney. "Look, sexual attraction is to some degree dependent on physical packaging. Not completely, but some things are deal-breakers."

"Yeah, but if our situations were reversed..." Because they _could_ have been. John could have, _should_ have been the first one into that room and after this was all over he was getting Rodney a _leash_ so that Rodney...

"Yes, I’d still want to jump you. That’s what bisexual _means_ , Sheppard. But you’re not bi and there’s nothing you can do about that – or are you implying it’s a choice?"

John blew out a breath. "No. But I still feel like I’m being, I dunno, shallow?"

"Trust me, if you were shallow, we’d never had made it this far." Rodney’s tone managed to be both wry and gentle.

"You’re taking this awfully well, buddy."

Rodney was quiet long enough that John began to worry, because Rodney bitched endlessly about scrapes and blisters but could be bizarrely stoic about things that really hurt – especially when he thought John was hurting worse. Then:

"Having sex in a female body – hell, _living_ in a female body – is pretty weird from my end too. An _interesting_ kind of weird, and unlike the cross-dressing space vampires, not life-threatening, but still... Anyway," Rodney said decisively, " Jennifer said two weeks. By now, that’s ten days. I can wait ten days, although by the time this is all over I’ll be so horny for you it’s going to _hurt_ and first chance I get I’m going to fuck you through the _mattress_ , make you come so hard..."

John put his hand over Rodney’s mouth, grinning. _This_ he could talk about. "Hearing you say that is making _me_ horny. It’s gonna be a long ten days for both of us."

Rodney shoved the hand away. "Good. While we’re on the subject, does my current body have anything to do with why you’ve been going running at evermore absurd hours of the night?"

Damn. Rodney was _sneaky_. "Morning," John shot back.

"Dark. Night."

"Okay. Yeah. You, uh – while you’re asleep..."

"I thought so. Get your Marines to haul an extra bed in here."

"Marines gossip, buddy."

"Fuck gossip. Gossip is less important than you getting enough sleep to function properly. If you _already_ look as if we’ve got a Wraith hive approaching, what’s going to happen when a hive actually shows up?"

"Ever the optimist," John said fondly. "Okay, I’ll sleep on the couch. We got it extra-long just for that, right?" Which was true. What they’d actually done was to have Ronon stretch out on the floor, measure _him_ and then use those specifications to pick out a couch.

"Fine. And I’m telling Ronon to stay away until _at least_ 5 AM."

When John woke up on the couch the next morning, it was 06:37. He mentioned this to Ronon, whose only reply was, "McKay said you needed it."

***

The return to PX6-992, AKA Planet Sex Change, involved two jumpers, Keller, Marie Ko, a Naval combat medic who’d come to Atlantis attached to a Marine unit, enough medical equipment for a small field hospital, Zelenka, Simpson (but not Miko, whose ATA gene made her too vulnerable to the same device that had nailed Rodney on SGA-1’s first trip), three laptops, a case of miscellaneous tools and cables, Teyla, Ronon, John, Lorne and four Marines whom Lorne had brought along "just in case."

The star of the show was, of course, Rodney, looking not at all displeased to have his very own travelling circus.

They hadn’t brought a jumper the first time. No need to, on a pretty and non-threatening world with the Ancient research installation only 4.5 km from the Gate. It had turned out to be a fucking long 4.5 km when they had to carry Rodney back, pale and shocky, barely conscious enough to whimper in pain every time he was jostled.

The speed with which they covered the same distance this time was almost shocking by comparison. They arrived at the installation and found the room – laboratory? clinic? sex club? – where the change had happened. Then they all had to wait while Keller got her hospital set up outside in the corridor. Inside the room Zelenka and Simpson – supervised from the doorway by Rodney, making up in volume what he lacked in proximity – got ready to take readings while the event was in progress.

Finally Keller gave the all-clear, John braced himself in anticipation of Rodney’s screams, Rodney stepped onto the section of floor that seemed to have triggered the previous change, and... Nothing. Rodney stepped off the section and back on. Nothing. He bounced up and down on his toes. Nothing.

Six hours later, Rodney still had breasts. He, Zelenka and Simpson had had to give up on trying to find an immediate fix. Instead, they’d downloaded as much information as the laptops would hold, photographed the entire room, pried the control panels off, photographed the contents, traced out circuits and sketched diagrams. They were just now beginning to put the control panels back on and they’d been arguing the _whole damn time_ and they were _still arguing_.

Out in the corridor, Lorne, Ko and Teyla were playing some kind of card game. As far as John could tell, Lorne was losing more often than not. John wondered if there were bets involved.

Ronon, the Marines and the medic had gotten an unarmed combat practice session going. ("If anyone gets hurt, sir, the doc’s right here.") The medic kept glancing over at Keller to see if she was watching. Which she was, but only when the medic was too busy with an opponent to notice. John caught her eyes the next time she turned away, pretending _not_ to watch, and she smiled, unembarrassed. Which was fine. The guy wasn’t bad looking. He was Keller’s own age or even a little younger. Maybe she’d got the daddy issues out of her system after Rodney.

They’d broken out a round of MREs four hours in and John was beginning to wonder if he should advise Atlantis they were staying the night when Rodney announced, "We’re done here, let’s move, people. Chop, chop!"

"Awwww, McKay, do we hafta?" John drawled.

"While the rest of you were apparently having a _picnic_ , Colonel, some people were _working_ and now have to get back to Atlantis to do even more _work_ analysing what we’ve found here today."

Rodney sounded okay. He didn’t sound despairing or angry or even all that upset. Whatever was going on, Rodney was okay with it. John held on to that knowledge all the way home.

***

When Rodney failed to show up for supper that evening, John took a tray down to the lab.

"Here’s the thing," said Rodney through a partly chewed mouthful of tastes-like-chicken, "Right now we have no idea why it didn’t work. We _do_ know the unit’s got power. But there could be a reset procedure that has to be run in between changes. Or being used once more after sitting there for thousands of years could have blown something somewhere in the circuits. Or, well, we just don’t know at this point."

He swallowed – finally – and then kept on talking. "The good news is, one, we’ve got lots of data to work with. For once we’ve even got what seems to be a user manual. In Ancient, of course, linguistics is working on it, but still. Two, no one’s dying. Which is a key and very welcome difference from our _usual_ sort of situation."

"Okay," said John, "So I can expect you to turn in tonight at a reasonable hour without me coming down here to get you."

Caught out, Rodney sputtered, "Well, ah, no – someone has to supervise Radek and Simpson!"

"Simpson has already left half an hour ago," Radek observed from his corner of the lab. "And I am leaving now. Dobrou noc!"

"Traitor," muttered Rodney.

"C’mon, Rodney, it’s like you said. No one’s dying."

"Yes, but... Sleeping alone feels weird." Rodney stuck his chin out as if daring John to make fun of him and started to cross his arms over his breasts, then awkwardly aborted the movement. John’s stomach twisted.

"Yeah, I know, buddy. About the weirdness."

They stared at each a moment before Rodney crumbled.

"Okay, I know you know. It’s, it’s just..." He looked lost and sad. John reached out and pulled him close, hugging him without desire but with great affection. The fuzz at the front of Rodney’s new hairline had grown long enough to be considered real hair now. It tickled John’s chin.

"What if we put a sword in the bed between us?" John murmured.

Rodney promptly pulled away and squawked, "A _what_?"

"Like in stories. We could borrow Ronon’s."

"What kinds of stories have you been reading? No, don’t answer that. Just – no edged weapons in bed. None. Ever."

"Okay. A P-90."

"I take that back. No weapons in bed _at all_."

John cocked a hip and pouted. "Awww, Rodney, you don’t want my P-90 in your bed?"

He just _barely_ managed to keep a straight face until Rodney lost it first.

By the time they’d stopped laughing, John had had another idea. "Seriously – your laptop?"

"I’ve fallen asleep on too many laptops to wake up just because I’ve rolled over one more. Wait... rolling... your skateboard!"

"My skateboard," said John in disbelief.

"Or one of your golf clubs. Or all of them, in that bag you’ve got! It would be like having another body in the bed!"

"McKay, I am _not_ doing a threesome with you and my golf clubs!"

"Not even if I let you bring your P-90?" asked Rodney, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

John slept on the couch again that night, but his ribs hurt from laughing and he hoped Rodney’s did too.

***

Marines _do_ gossip, partly for entertainment and partly because soldiers who can find out what’s going on before the official word comes down have more time to prepare. Gossip is a survival skill.

Unfortunately, even really _good_ gossip isn’t enough to offset the effects of sheer stupidity.

The half-dozen Marines who’d staked out the table near the door of the mess were all relative newcomers to Atlantis. Maybe they were inspired by the news that Rodney’s breasts were going to be around for longer than originally predicted. Or maybe they just hadn’t had any previous opportunities to display this particular brand of stupidity.

John didn’t much care. When Rodney walked into the mess and a long, low whistle echoed throughout the room, John stood up from his table at the back and got ready to kick ass. Ronon and Teyla were right behind him.

Rodney, however, stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and demanded, "Who was that?"

Most of the guys at the table were laughing and smirking, apparently having failed to notice that everyone else in the mess hall had fallen silent. One guy, more observant than the others, called, "Sorry, Dr. McKay, just joking."

"Oh, really?" said Rodney. "I don’t often say this, but I’ve clearly made a mistake. Specifically, I’ve made a mistake in estimating the level of intelligence the average member of the US Marine Corps brings to their understanding of technical matters. I wouldn’t have thought this possible, but" – Rodney paused for effect – "I _over_ -estimated it."

Shit, thought John. The guys at the table stopped laughing, but Rodney barrelled on.

"Listen up, people! You seem to be under the impression that when in the past I’ve had occasion to make ‘adjustments’ to the temperature of your quarters or the functionality of your plumbing, I’ve accomplished this using my dick and balls. And no, I _don’t_ want to know how you imagined this taking place because that’s _irrelevant_. The only thing that matters is that you’re _wrong_. The same adjustments can be made by _any_ competent member of the physics and engineering department, _including_ but hardly limited to Dr. Simpson, Dr. Kusanagi and myself in my current form!"

It didn’t escape John’s notice that as Rodney conducted his harangue, the crowd in the mess hall shifted, with some people drifting towards the back while others converged on Rodney’s position. Miko and Simpson appeared at his side, followed by other female scientists and technicians. Teyla and Amelia took up positions on Rodney’s other side, Amelia sporting a notably bloodthirsty grin.

Keller, Ko and Biro stood slightly behind Rodney. Keller looked as if she were contemplating the use of particularly large needles – or maybe rectal thermometers. She actually looked scarier than the female Marines who’d joined the group, even though most of the latter were _armed_.

The conclusion of Rodney’s diatribe was followed by ringing silence. When Sergeant Mehra broke it by loudly popping her gum, several of the male Marines visibly flinched. John enjoyed the sight for a moment before stepping forward from the corner where he’d been watching. The looks of relief on the faces of the male Marines were almost comical. These idiots had tried sexually harassing Atlantis’ chief scientist – in front of witnesses, no less – and they were _relieved_ to have their commanding officer show up?

John picked out the senior female officer present. "Major Teldy, everything under control here?"

"Yes, sir. Although I’ve been hearing that some of our troops are complaining of having too much time on their hands."

"Teyla, I hate to impose on your time with your family, but perhaps some extra bantos practice?"

"I would not have time to train with each _man_ " – John would bet a year’s worth of movie-choosing rights that Teyla’s use of that word was deliberate – "individually. However, some of my current students are certainly proficient enough to work with others under my supervision. Anne," Teyla bowed slight towards Teldy, who bowed back , "Laura, Dusty, Alicia and Amelia all display high levels of skill."

"I’d appreciate it, Teyla. Major, if you and Ms. Emmagen would set up a schedule?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Of course, John. I will look forward to these sessions." Teyla’s smile was serene. John heard one of the men behind him curse under his breath.

"Dr. McKay."

Rodney’s chin went up. "Colonel Sheppard."

"I’m relying on you and your staff to maintain the environmental controls in all areas of Atlantis at _appropriate_ settings. I’m sure I can trust your judgement on this."

Rodney huffed. "You can trust my judgement as to what’s a good use of my time and what isn’t. Miko and Simpson are perfectly capable of handling environmental control maintenance on their own."

"I enjoy environmental control maintenance, myself," added Simpson. Miko giggled. She had a surprisingly wicked-sounding giggle.

"Glad to hear it," said John.

***

"What happened in the mess today," John began when they were alone in their quarters that evening.

"Yes, yes, I already apologized to Teldy for inadvertently including the _female_ Marines in my comment about the Marines’ understanding of technical matters. She said she’d pass the apology on."

John stared. Rodney flushed. "Teyla suggested it."

"Yeah, well, Teyla’s the diplomat on the team. But what I was going to ask – have you been catching this shit before today?"

Rodney looked thoughtful. "No, I haven’t. Maybe the odd look at my chest now and then, but anyone I’ve caught doing that has backed right off when I glare at them. I think the people who’ve been in Pegasus long enough just _know_ better than to piss off the guy who might be saving their lives tomorrow."

"Okay. But if anything happens..."

"I’ll tell Miko and Simpson to add them to the list."

Which wasn’t quite what John had meant, but he got the point.

***

Eight nights later someone woke John out of a sound sleep by grabbing his shoulders, shaking him and yelling. John was on his feet and reaching for the sidearm he wasn’t wearing before he realized his attacker was Rodney.

"We’ve got it! We’re going back to PX6-992!"

John blinked. His mind never woke up as fast as his body. "Right now?" he asked.

Well, no, of course not. But Rodney had already set up a meeting to get Woolsey’s go-ahead. 09:00 found John and Rodney sitting in Woolsey’s office, along with Zelenka, Simpson and a profoundly unhappy Keller.

"The device has some kind of locking mechanism that uses DNA identification to keep any one individual from being changed more than once. However, the circuit paths are fairly straightforward. Any competent engineer could route _around_ the locking mechanism and cut it out of the circuit, so Radek and Simpson should be able to handle it. Once that’s done, the device will initiate a second transformation when I step onto the trigger panel in the floor."

"That sounds almost too simple." It had taken a while, but Woolsey had finally acquired a feel for how things worked in the Pegasus Galaxy. "Do Drs. Zelenka and Simpson concur with your findings?"

"I have some argument with Rodney’s estimation of Dr. Simpson and myself as merely ‘competent engineers’" – here Rodney turned and glared, which Zelenka ignored – "but regarding the device, ano, I agree with him."

"I agree with Radek. On both counts," Simpson added.

"I don’t," snapped Keller. "Doesn’t it occur to any of you to wonder _why_ the locking mechanism was designed in the first place?"

Rodney waved her off. "Well, yes, we’ve seen the relevant documentation, we should be able to work around..."

"You haven’t told Colonel Sheppard, have you?" Keller interrupted.

John sat up straight. "Told me what?"

"Colonel Sheppard doesn’t need to know..."

"The hell I don’t, McKay!"

"Oh, really? Not even if he’s the one who’s going to have to make medical decisions for you afterwards?"

"You’re assuming that..." yelled Rodney.

"Dr. McKay, Dr. Keller, may we have some..." Everyone ignored Woolsey.

"That you’re going to live? Okay, let’s try assuming _not_ ," Keller spat.

"DR. KELLER!"

Everyone stared at Woolsey. Frankly, John hadn’t thought the guy had it in him. That yell would have done a drill sergeant proud.

"Dr. Keller, would you please explain, in rational, objective terms, why you disagree with Drs. McKay, Zelenka and Simpson. _And_ " – here Woolsey glared at Rodney, who already had his mouth open – "would everyone else please remain quiet until _after_ Dr. Keller has finished."

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey. As we’ve already seen, the transformation process is extremely stressful to the physical organism, to the point of being traumatic. It involves recoding the individual’s chromosomes and then expressing the results of the recoding at an enormously accelerated pace. The documentation that accompanied the device, as translated by the linguistics department, clearly states that the device was intended to be used _only_ after extensive counselling and the exploration of all other options for satisfying the individual’s desire to have their body modified. In other words, the transformation was supposed to be a one-way trip."

Rodney leaned forward as if to speak, but stilled when John laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Furthermore, there are strong indications in the research notes accompanying the ‘user manual’ that the degree of physical trauma associated with the transformation can be expected to increase exponentially with each use by the same individual. Hence, the locking mechanism."

"You’re saying that if Dr. McKay goes through with this, it could be fatal," said Woolsey quietly.

"Yes. That’s what I’m saying. Dr. McKay will be undergoing an unnecessary..."

"Unnecessary!" Rodney yelped. John stepped on his foot. Keller glared at both of them.

"A procedure that’s both potentially fatal _and_ unnecessary for medical reasons," Keller finished.

"Gender dysphoria," retorted Rodney. "It’s a recognized medical condition, I have it, this machine will fix it."

"I’m not familiar with..." Woolsey began.

"I’m currently a man trapped in a female body. My gender, which is psychological, doesn’t match my anatomy. In fact, right now my anatomy doesn’t match my life experience, my records or really anything else about me. How much more dysphoric can you get?"

"Fine," gritted Keller. "There are hormones, there’s reassignment surgery..."

"Hello, have you read _anything_ about the half-assed reconstruction techniques they’re calling phalloplasty these days? Let me make this perfectly clear: I don’t just want a dick again – I want one that _works_!"

Every other man at the table shifted uncomfortably.

It was Woolsey who finally broke the silence. "Very well. Dr. McKay has already demonstrated that he’s aware of both the risks and the benefits of the proposed procedure. I don’t see that we can refuse to allow him to undergo it."

Rodney opened his mouth. Woolsey glared at him and continued, " _However_ , Dr. Keller should not be forced to participate in a procedure to which she has ethical objections. We could ask Dr. Biro if she’s willing to take over or – Colonel, how long would it take to retrieve Dr. Beckett from the refugee camp clinic?"

"Travel time’s only a few hours each way, but Carson might need longer to set things up there so he can spared for a while."

"Never mind," said Keller bitterly. "I’ll do it. I won’t actually be performing the procedure. I’ll just be picking up the pieces afterwards."

Rodney in pieces. _There_ was an image John didn’t need.

"Thank you, Doctor. In that case I only have one final point to make. Dr. McKay, Dr. Keller was correct when she asserted that Colonel Sheppard should be involved in your decision. The roles you play in each others’ lives are such that, although you are not _formally_ married, to all intents and purposes, he is your common-law husband."

 __

Husband?

It wasn’t that John objected to the term, exactly. He just hadn’t expected it to come up for the first time at a mission pre-briefing.

"I’m therefore scheduling the trip to PX6-992 for three days from today. Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard, I hope that you will use this time to discuss the matter privately. If you decide that you wish to cancel the trip, please let me know as soon as possible. Now, does anyone have any other comments? Questions? Then thank you all for your time."

Husband. Huh.

***

"So do you actually _want_ to discuss this?" asked Rodney in their quarters that evening. Or that night, really. It had gotten pretty late and they were both about to turn in.

"Nope."

Rodney sniffed. "I didn’t think so."

"Except... when did you start reading up on phalloplasty?"

"Shortly after... all this started. Sort of a Plan F, as in, when all else _fails_."

That seemed to be that. No way in hell was John going to ask if the phalloplasty research began "shortly after" John stopped sleeping in their bed, and Rodney apparently wasn’t going to tell him without being asked. They’d somehow managed to recreate their own version of DADT.

John thought rather grimly that common-law marriage didn’t improve communication any better than the official kind did.

And then Rodney said, "It’s not all about you, Sheppard."

John stared, shocked that Rodney would think he thought that.

"I mean, I’m not doing this just for you. This whole thing has been... pretty weird. Having to sit down to piss is the least of it. My balance is off when I walk, everything’s higher than it should be and the other day in the lab I went to pick up a crate and couldn’t."

"Ouch," said John softly.

"And then _Simpson_ came over and said, ‘You have to use your back and legs more,’ and _she_ picked it up and then put it down and _stood_ there and wouldn’t go away until I tried again."

"You didn’t tell me any of this."

Rodney shrugged. "You were dealing with your own issues. What were you going to do, anyway? Offer to follow me around and pick up crates for me? I think I would have tried to punch you out."

Rodney was probably right about the crates, but John still felt as if there were _something_ he ought to have done. Or maybe something he ought to be able to do _now_.

"Do you want to try the golf club thing tonight?"

Rodney smiled fondly. "No, you moron. Go get some sleep. See you tomorrow at breakfast, right?"

"Yeah, right," said John. Maybe he could stop off before his run and bribe the cooks to make the chocolate chip muffins that were Rodney’s favourites?

***

"Colonel Sheppard, would you mind dropping by the infirmary sometime this morning? It’s not an emergency, but it _is_ important."

Keller’s voice over the radio sounded calm and professional. "Sure thing, Doc. I should be able to come by shortly."

John turned back to Lorne.

"I think we’re just about done here, sir. I’ll take care of things while you’re gone tomorrow."

"Great, thanks. Ah, no offense meant over..."

"Bringing Teldy instead of me is a smart move, sir. It sends a certain message which, I’m sorry to say, needs to be sent."

"Yeah, and anyone who doesn’t get it is going to find _themselves_ being sent."

"As in ‘back to Earth’ on the _Daedalus_? Yes, _sir_!" Lorne’s grin was pure smart-ass, and John smiled back.

His smile faded, though, as he approached the infirmary. He couldn’t think of anything Keller would want to tell him that he’d actually want to hear.

"Colonel Sheppard – thanks for coming. Let’s step into my office."

John’s unease grew as Keller locked the door behind them.

"Have you and Rodney had a chance to talk?"

Exactly what he’d expected. "Yeah, we talked." Which was true.

Keller folded her arms, waiting for him to go on. He folded his arms right back and leaned against the doorframe. The seconds ticked by, Keller’s expression turning increasingly more grim with each tick.

Keller broke first. "Colonel, you can’t let him go through with this!"

"It seems to me, Doc" John drawled, "We’ve already had the discussion about whether or not you get to make all of Rodney’s medical decisions for him. The only difference is that this time, you’ve got the option to stay home. And even if you do come along, no one’s going to be asking you to do brain surgery with a power drill."

Keller was white with fury. "He’s only doing this for you!" she spat, and yeah, that remark carried all the sting of a bullet crease from a near miss, but John tried to hang on to his temper.

"That’s not what Rodney said. He’s doing this to get his own body back."

"Because _you_ can’t accept the body he’s in now! Dammit, Sheppard, do you really find women’s bodies so repulsive that you can’t care it’s still Rodney inside?"

"I _know_ it’s still Rodney!" John roared. "Who the hell do you..."

"If you really cared about Rodney, the packaging wouldn’t matter! You won’t even _try_ toaccept him as he is!"

"That’s pretty rich coming from the _ex_ -fiancée he broke up with for exactly that reason!"

"That’s none of your business and _I_ never did anything to risk Rodney. You, Colonel, are going to _kill_ him because you won’t even _try_ to change!"

John opened his mouth to reply but Keller’s words rushed into it and choked him, infiltrated his mind and set up echoes. You won’t even try to change, you won’t even try, you won’t change. The phrases echoed in all the voices over all the years. Nancy, his father, the psychiatrist his father had paid for, all of them telling him to change but instead he escaped, he ran, ran as far as another galaxy where Rodney had walked into a roomful of alien tech on an alien planet and John could have, _should_ have been the first one into that room. Different reasons, same result, all his fault and he could still hear...

An angry humming noise from the office door startled both John and Keller. Then the locking mechanism _sizzled_ and shot purple sparks as the door slid open and Rodney stalked through holding a screwdriver.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he snarled at Keller.

"That door was locked for a reason, Rodney," she snapped back.

"No, that door was locked so that you could _harass_ Sheppard. You’re dealing with a man with a martyr complex, a guy who throws himself into suicide missions because he thinks that’s what he deserves, and you’re trying to manipulate him with _more guilt_? I always thought your voodoo came with at least a veneer of professionalism, but you’ve lost even that, _Doctor_."

Even now Keller didn’t back down, never mind that Rodney’s flailing hands kept bringing the screwdriver within inches of her face. She pulled herself to her full height, her eyes almost on level with Rodney’s, and stood her ground. "Rodney, I’m trying to save your _life_. If John could just..."

"What part of ‘gay’ don’t you understand?" Rodney yelled. "John’s not sexually attracted to female bodies! Do you think that’s something he can _control_ or _change_? It’s not! And if I _were_ a woman, that would be okay. We’d be friends and team-mates and maybe I would’ve had a crush on him but it would hardly be my first unrequited crush and I’d have gotten over it and we would be _okay_. But we wouldn’t have become lovers and we sure as hell wouldn’t have become husbands or spouses or whatever."

"The thing is, _I’m not a woman_. I’m not a woman any more than John is sexually attracted to women. And I might be able to adapt to living in this body and I might be able to adapt to losing John..."

"You shouldn’t..." Keller began.

"You wouldn’t..." grated John.

"Shut up, both of you! I have to say this!" Rodney took a ragged breath. "I might be able to adapt to either one, but I honestly don’t think I could adapt to both."

"You shouldn’t _have to_ adapt to losing John," Keller persisted doggedly.

"You don’t get it, do you? The relationship I have with John isn’t entirely about sex but it _includes_ sex. Sexual attraction is woven through everything else we feel for each other. I want my body back _and_ I want my _life_ back, including John and _all_ the different ways in which John and I can be attracted to each other. We had that and I want it _back_. And _yes_ , this is going to be painful, I of all people know just how painful this is going to be and everyone knows I _hate_ pain, but that’s the _point_. I’m doing this despite the pain because it’s _important_."

"You’re risking everything you’ve got now in order to gain just one thing more!" Keller snapped.

"No! I’m taking a risk in order to gain everything, because... Because... Oh, the hell with you, you’re not the one who matters. John," said Rodney, quietly now, "I’m taking the risk because with you, anything _less_ than everything is never going to be enough for me. Do you understand? I don’t want you to change and I sure as hell don’t want you pulling any suicidal self-sacrificing crap. Just – can you try to understand?"

"Okay," said John hoarsely. "Yeah." Rodney was the one doing all the talking – why did John’s own throat feel raw? Didn’t matter. He stepped up to Rodney and hugged him, hard and long, then kept one arm around Rodney’s freakily narrow waist as he turned to Keller.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me, Dr. Keller? Because if not, we’re done here. Let Woolsey know if we’re bringing Biro with us tomorrow or if we need to postpone the mission in order to retrieve Beckett. Rodney, lunch?"

***

"Are you really okay with Keller coming along?" John asked later that evening.

"Why not? She’s obviously committed to my continuing survival, she’ll fight hard to keep me alive."

John’s fists clenched involuntarily. "Not funny, buddy."

"No, I guess not. But to be honest, the pain scares me worse than the risk of, you know. I’m just – trying not to think about it."

"Okay, sorry," and John _did_ feel ashamed. His own psychological comfort wasn’t the priority here. It had taken him too long to understand that. Rodney shouldn’t have had to tell him.

He watched as Rodney collected his laptop from the coffee table, apparently to take to bed with him. "You sure you want that? You should get some sleep."

"I don’t think I’ll be able to, so I’d might as well keep busy."

"What if... Ah, I could..." John waved vaguely in the direction of the bedroom.

"With golf clubs?"

"No."

Rodney frowned. "You need sleep more than I do. You have to be alert when you bring us home tomorrow."

Bring us home, bring _us_. _Home_. Just hearing Rodney say it made John feel warm with affection. "Kinda the point. I think... I think we’ll both sleep better."

They got under the covers of their big bed, neither of them able to get settled comfortably until John pulled Rodney’s back against his chest and spooned around his husband. His right arm was lying atop Rodney’s jiggly, squooshy breasts and Rodney’s ass was too full and soft against his groin, but it was okay. This wasn’t about sex.

"Want me to tell you how the jumpers are doing, buddy?"

And John did, until he heard Rodney start to snore.

***

The third trip to Planet Sex Change involved two jumpers, Keller, Ko, the Naval combat medic (Willis? Williams?), enough medical equipment for a medium-sized field hospital, Zelenka, Simpson, five laptops, two cases of miscellaneous tools and cables, Teyla, Ronon, John, Teldy and four Marines hand-picked by Teldy, all of them female.

Keller got her hospital set up in the corridor outside the pretty-sure-it’s-not-a-sex-club while Zelenka and Simpson, supervised from the doorway by Rodney, pried the controls panels off the device and set to work modifying the circuits.

Finally Rodney gave the all-clear. John braced himself as Rodney stepped onto the section of floor that triggered the change. A beam of white light shot out of the device, enveloping Rodney’s body. Then Rodney started to scream.

The screaming went on. And on. And then died away in a raspy gurgle, leaving Rodney still caught by the light, his face contorted with pain.

Seconds after the beam finally vanished and Rodney slumped to the floor, he went into cardiac arrest.

His heart stopped a second time during the nightmare ride back to Atlantis, Keller and her team working frantically as John pushed the jumper for every scrap of speed it would give him.

Rodney’s heart stopped a third time in the corridor between the Gateroom and the infirmary.

"Goddammit, Rodney, you die on me and I’ll fucking _kill_ you!" screamed Keller. She had tears running down her face, but her hands never stopped working. Rodney had been right – she was fighting for him with everything she had.

John had never admired her more.

He himself could only stand by, wishing he still believed in prayer, willing Atlantis herself to give Rodney strength if she could.

***

John remained in the infirmary until Rodney was out of immediate danger. Then he left only to collect a few things before returning to move in and make camp. He commandeered the bed next to Rodney’s and brought his laptop along with the stated intention of catching up on his reports, but in fact he spent most of his time watching the rise and fall of Rodney’s chest, not quite believing it wasn’t going to stop.

He was badly freaked out the second day when he was wiping Rodney’s fever-sweaty face and all the recently-grown hair along Rodney’s hairline started to come out. The first thought that came to his mind was radiation poisoning.

"Calm down, Colonel," said Ko. "It’s just that his new body doesn’t support living hair follicles in that location. The same thing happened with his chest hair last time. Actually, his chest hair should be starting to grow back in – want to check?"

And sure enough, Rodney’s chest sported brown fuzz. John ran his hand over it, again and again until he remembered Ko was watching. But when he jerked his hand away, she smiled gently and said, "It’s okay. You’re entitled," before she left them alone together.

She was right about that, John realized. So once she was gone, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Rodney’s fuzzy chest. Twice.

***

By the fifth day Rodney had the beginnings of a beard and was awake enough of the time to complain about it. John retrieved Rodney’s shaving kit from their quarters and shaved him, one hand holding the razor and the other wrapped around the strong shape of Rodney’s jaw.

Rodney had been getting only sponge baths, of course. He smelled a little, a distinctly masculine scent. John had to focus hard on the details of his task when he leaned in close to get at a tricky spot.

Once John was done, Rodney demanded a mirror "to see if you missed anything." It wasn’t until John saw Rodney’s eyes widen that he realized Rodney hadn’t seen his own face since they’d returned from Planet Sex Change. John watched as Rodney lifted a hand to trace his own jawline, his cheekbone.

"Looking good there, buddy," John murmured. Rodney looked up at him then, wide blue eyes and receding hairline. John couldn’t breathe, so he had to lean in and press his lips to Rodney’s, sharing some of Rodney’s breath until Biro came bustling in. It was only when John pulled away that he realized Rodney had one hand fisted in John’s shirt.

***

By the ninth day, Rodney was not only awake most of the time, he’d also gotten Zelenka – _and_ Miko _and_ Simpson – to smuggle in a laptop for him. One laptop _each_.

"Okay," said Keller, hands on her hips as she surveyed the collection. "I think this indicates that you’re ready to be released tomorrow."

John went back to their quarters, collected Rodney’s borrowed clothing, washed it, folded it and returned it to Cadman, with thanks. He gathered up the blankets and pillows he’d been using on the couch and put them back in the bedroom where they belonged. And he changed the sheets on the bed for new ones that smelled not at all of the female body Rodney had temporarily occupied.

***

On day ten, John escorted Rodney back to their quarters. The ever-helpful Hospital Corpsman First Class Williston insisted on accompanying them to carry Rodney’s laptops "so that Colonel Sheppard can have his hands free in case Dr. McKay needs assistance."

The kid’s tone was so earnest that John could barely keep from smirking, and it only got better when Rodney kicked into auto-protest mode: "What, in case I _swoon_? Don’t you have something _else_ you’re supposed to be doing other than trailing us around? Something that’s actually _useful_?"

"Rodney, let the nice corpsman help us out," John adjusted his drawl to extra-long and threw in a bonus eyebrow-wiggle. "He’s right – I need both hands to handle you."

Williston blushed. So did Rodney.

By the time they made it to their quarters, Rodney had indeed run out of steam and was leaning heavily on John, who had one arm swung around his husband’s broad shoulders and was enjoying the warm weight pressing into him too much to complain. Once inside, John steered Rodney onto their bed, then went back into the living room where Williston was setting the laptops down on the coffee table.

"Thanks for the assistance, corpsman – good call."

"Thank _you_ , sir!" Williston snapped off a salute and left.

"He spends all his time hanging around the infirmary," came Rodney’s voice from the bedroom.

John went back in. "He’s supposed to. Lorne’s idea – cross-training between the civilian and military medical personnel."

"And the thing Williston’s got going with Keller?"

"Probably not Lorne’s idea."

"Ha! I told him if he made her cry he’d never take a hot shower in this city again."

"Rodney, I think Keller can take care of herself."

Rodney sniffed. "It’s the thought that counts. Oooh, this bed feels _fantastic_ after the infirmary beds. Here" – he wriggled sideways – "lie down."

John kicked off his boots and crawled across the bed, stretching out on his side about a foot away from Rodney, who promptly fisted his hands in John’s t-shirt and tugged him closer.

"Hi," whispered Rodney. Then he hauled John in chest to chest and kissed him.

Wide, warm, wet mouth and slightly whiskery chin – this kiss brought to you by the letter W, thought John, half-intoxicated. That didn’t stop him from play-struggling with Rodney for control of the kiss, which kept slipping back and forth between them in much the same fashion as their tongues, slick and hot and delicious. John’s leg slipped between Rodney’s and he could feel Rodney’s cock right where it was supposed to be and half-hard already, a line of heat against John’s thigh that made him groan into Rodney’s mouth and then they had to pull back to breath and...

Rodney’s darkened eyes went wide as his mouth split open in a jaw-cracking yawn.

John collapsed against his shoulder, chuckling.

"Oh, shit! John, I’m sorry..."

"It’s okay," John murmured, thumb stroking Rodney’s collarbone.

"No, it’s _not_." But Rodney’s eyes were already drifting shut.

"Yes, it is, ‘cause we’ve got time for you to catch a nap while I go do some stuff. I’ll be back with dinner later and then we’ve got even _more_ time and you made me a promise."

"Promise?" muttered Rodney.

"Yeah, about me and a mattress?"

"Bring it on," Rodney mumbled, and he fell into sleep.

***

When John returned some hours later, Rodney was nowhere in sight, but John could hear the shower running. It stopped as he was setting their trays down on the table.

"Sleep well?" he called.

"Hell, yes!" Rodney yelled back. "I never would have guessed it would be so fantastic just to be able to sleep on my stomach again!"

John laughed and started shuffling through their DVD collection, wondering if Rodney would want to watch something after dinner.

"What have we got for..." asked Rodney, coming out of the bathroom, but John didn’t hear the rest of the question because Rodney was all damp and flushed and standing _right there_ , still towelling his hair dry and wearing boxers and a shirt proclaiming that sarcasm was only one of the services he offered.

"John? Sheppard? Are you... Oh." And now they were staring at each other and John thought they might have done so forever if Rodney’s stomach hadn’t announced – loudly – that it was hungry.

"Damn it, what is _with_ my body today?"

"You’re body’s just fine, buddy," said John, giving Rodney a blatant up-and-down look.

"Oh, very funny! What’s for dinner, anyway?"

"Meatloaf and mashed tormack." John was trying for casual, but Rodney gave him an all too knowing look.

"How much did it cost you to arrange for those particular menu items?"

"Most of your chocolate stash."

"Hey!"

"C’mon, are we eating or what?"

Afterwards, John couldn’t have sworn under oath whether he’d been eating meatloaf or compressed sawdust. Mostly he’d been watching Rodney, Rodney’s hands, Rodney’s mouth, Rodney’s blissful expression.

John had brought chocolate pudding, set aside on a separate tray, but there was only so much a guy could be asked to take, right? So when Rodney finished his last swallow of tormack – and no, John was _not_ watching Rodney’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed – and asked, "What’s for dessert?", John leaned back in his chair. He let his legs sprawl just a bit further apart and looked back at Rodney through his eyelashes.

"Me."

He wasn’t expecting Rodney to move quite that fast. John almost hit the floor when his chair did, just barely managing to catch his balance in time. Then he nearly lost it again when Rodney grabbed his arm and pretty much dragged him into their bedroom. Or maybe it was John dragging Rodney, because by the time Rodney shoved him down onto their bed, John had a good enough grip to pull Rodney down with him.

This time they weren’t stopping, not for sleep or food or attacking Wraith, _almost_ not even long enough to get their clothes off but they did manage that much and, god, Rodney’s body, the taste and the scent of him. If John had had three mouths and ten hands, they still wouldn’t have been enough to touch Rodney all over, all at once. Trying to choose where to start _hurt_ , so John simply went for the nearest target, nipping along Rodney’s pecs until John found his nipples, biting and sucking while John’s hands reached down and around and _yeah_ , that was how Rodney’s ass _should_ feel.

Rodney’s hips were thrusting, rubbing his cock against John’s belly, hot and – oh, already sticky? John pulled one hand off Rodney’s ass to check this out and yeah, Rodney was hard and swollen and leaking, so wonderful to _feel_ that John’s mouth started to water as he imagined how Rodney would _taste_. So he bit and licked and sucked his way down Rodney’s chest and belly, buried his nose in Rodney’s groin to enjoy the male animal scent as he stroked Rodney’s cock. Then he raised himself up and just _breathed_ on the tip of it.

Rodney was frantic, his head thrashing back and forth, his hips trying to buck harder than John would allow. "John, gonna, close," Rodney panted.

But in that lust-drunken moment, the only meaning "close" had for John was the distance between his mouth and the tip of Rodney’s cock. He reached out with his tongue, licked, swirled, small explosions of salt and musk on his taste buds making him desperate for more, so he pulled back a little and then moved forward again to go all the way down...

And Rodney wailed and jerked and came in John’s face.

Semen stung John’s eyes, stopped his nostrils, dripped onto his lips so that he couldn’t see and all he could hear and smell and taste was Rodney, Rodney, Rodney. His whole world was Rodney and John went crazy with it, rutting against Rodney’s thigh until a big, hot hand reached down and circled his cock, giving him a tight place to thrust into, each thrust lifting him farther and higher until his orgasm swept him up, carried him along and then went _through_ him like a high-voltage electrical charge, dropping him in its wake to crash downwards and collapse against Rodney.

After a dazed moment, John wiped his semen-smeared face all over Rodney’s furry chest.

"Hey!" Rodney yelped. "That’s it, Sheppard – you officially _fail_ at suave."

" _You_ came on my _face_ , Mister Hair-Trigger," John sniggered, happy and loose-limbed.

"That’s _Doctor_ Hair-Trigger, I _tried_ to warn you – and can you reach something to wipe us off with?"

John put one arm out and groped around the floor until he snagged a t-shirt. He tried blotting at Rodney, only to have Rodney snatch the shirt away.

"Here, _give_ me that, let me... Stop squirming! What are you, _two_? There, you can open your eyes again."

"Don’ wanna." John laid his head down against Rodney’s shoulder. "Wanna sleep."

Everything was perfect, but there was something he needed to say. "Rodney?"

"John?"

"Missed you."

"Yes, well, I missed you, too. I mean, you were here, but I missed having _everything_."

"Have it now," John told him. "Have it for _keeps_."

And on that assurance, they slept, two male bodies tangled together in the middle of their shared lives.


End file.
